


An Ox on the Tongue

by seapotato



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: "friendship", A Little Horror, A little mystery, Caretaking, Case Fic, Druids, Friendship, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Peril, Pre-Season/Series 04, Soup, canon level excessive touching, cw: mild self harm for the sake of a ritual (brief and non-descriptive), humor lite, more plot than anticipated, soft smarties, some blood, still dumb though, terrible flirting, there's a smooch, what do you do when you have a Feeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23285983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seapotato/pseuds/seapotato
Summary: Not for the first time Merlin wondered if he'd been doing too good a job saving Arthur's princely hide. This time, it's because Merlin had realized, belatedly, that the assassination attempt targeted him, not Arthur.
Relationships: Gwaine & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 526





	An Ox on the Tongue

Not for the first time Merlin wondered if he'd been doing too good a job saving Arthur's princely hide. This time, though, it's not because his efforts were rewarded with an extra helping of “get these dents out of my armor” (dented more often than not when Merlin knocked Arthur unconscious to save him) with a side of “and when you're done with that, muck out the stables you've been neglecting” (said stables neglected either for poison cure research, curse cure research, defensive spell research, offensive spell research, etc. etc., again to save His (Future) Highness); this time, it's because Merlin had realized, belatedly, that the assassination attempt targeted _him_ , not Arthur. It had happened a few times in the past, notably the whole Nimueh and cup business, but only arranged by people who knew of Emrys. Only by those whom, he realized, feared him. And if he's being honest, he's basically killed everyone on that relatively short list, either inadvertently or on purpose.

As he dodged fireballs, ducking behind an unlucky bit of architecture, he couldn't think of either who this woman was or who would have sent her to kill him. Surely any old or new foe would go about a more subtle way of dispatching him than an attack at the edge of Camelot's forest. He was almost offended. A chunk of stone exploded by his left ear, pricking his face with sharp dust. He edged more to the right, around the circular expanse of the abandoned watchtower he took refuge behind. The strange voracity of the woods had swallowed the tower, rendering it too difficult to maintain. Uther had given up on it, and had built a new one at the perimeter of the woods, and the trees seemed satisfied enough to go no further.

The hag screeched, hacked, and hurled another fireball, which whizzed past the tower, melting a path in the the early spring snow to bury itself low in a tree trunk. Looking up at the sky, riddled with gauzy clouds behind spindly branches, Merlin wondered how no one in Camelot noticed their fight. Even though he led the hag to the outskirts of the woods, they were still on castle grounds. The fireballs were bright enough to spot, even in the cover of the forest. Probably for the best, he thought, as he sidled around the tower. He could hear the hag's footsteps crunching in the snow. She was getting closer, hoping, perhaps, to surprise Merlin. But he would be the one doing the surprising, as he crept around the rough stone, matching her step for step. He could get at her from behind, as long as she didn't see—damn, his shadow. The moon was high and did a beautiful job of rendering their shadows, though at the moment Merlin's blended with the tower's.

He looked up at the clouds agin and waved at them, mouthing a spell he used to rustle leaves from a long distance when trying to put Arthur on the wrong hunting track; it was the same thing really, he just had to smear it out a bit more, reach a little further. The clouds obligingly took up stance in front of the moon. The crunching stopped and Merlin stilled. He had been silent, there was no way she could have heard him. He listened and heard her gasping for breath, a wet, mucus-choked noise that made him want to gag. He tried to discern if there were any spells tangled in her coughs, but it was too difficult to parse. He would have to get her now, before she recovered. Silently he stepped out from behind the tower, hand raised in what he hoped was a menacing gesture. He had prepared to say, “Tell me who sent you, and why, and I might let you live,” something he had thought of on the spot and was quite proud of, but the shock of seeing nothing but the dark slant of trees in front of him numbed his mind. She hadn't moved a single step, he was sure of it, so where had she gone?

One word from behind, hissed and twisted beyond recognition, and bright flames licked over the shield he had instinctively raised. A coolness settled over his back like a cloak and the flames flickered out with the shield. He suppressed the petty urge to say something along the lines of “nice try” and turned to face his attacker. He expected insanity on the woman's face but saw none. She wasn't as old as he thought, given her painful coughing, and as the light caught her eyes he thought she was even a little pretty. The magic faded from them, turned silver by the moonlight.

Merlin finally found his voice. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

The woman smiled in return and Merlin was startled to see she had no teeth. Involuntarily, he took a step back. She staggered forward, swayed, then fell towards him. He caught her on instinct and then immediately let go with a yelp. Her body rolled over in the snow, her eyes blank and mouth gaping, and Merlin felt the cold for the first time that night.

**....................**

“You left her there?!” Gaius's voice rose on the last word and Merlin tried not to shrink into his neckerchief.

“She was dead! She was old! I think. Well, she had no teeth—I thought she was a hag. Don't look at me like that, not an actual hag. I overheard Leon giving his report to Arthur, they think she wandered into the forest from town and died. I wasn't about to correct them, at least until I sort all this out. Oh, and I expect they'll be coming for you soon to have a look at her.”

“And what of the scorch marks from the fire you said she attacked you with?”

Merlin waved a hand. “I took care of that.”

“You 'took care' of burn marks on a tree?” Gaius asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

“Yes,” Merlin began, like he was reciting something boring from rote, “The tree was injured and it knew it, and given time it would heal, so I just sort of sped it up a bit. The tree, I mean, not time. It was very willing. And the old watch tower was already in ruins, no one will notice.”

Gaius let out a sigh, the first of many in the coming days.

“Did she say why she was attacking you?”

Merlin shook his head.

“She didn't really try that hard. She seemed sick or something, kept coughing and breathing heavily, like her chest weighed more than she could lift. She was pretty stooped over, but when I got a look at her face she looked too young to be hobbled by an aging back. She could have mistaken me for someone else. Hand me that blanket, I think I caught a chill out there.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow. “That seems rather unlikely,” he remarked, and whether he was referring to the woman mistaking Merlin or him catching a chill, Merlin couldn't tell, but he handed him the blanket and ambled over to the hearth to put on the kettle.

“I'll make you some elderflower tea. Anything you have this early-on should be chased away by it. And then I suggest you try to rest while Arthur finishes up the inquiry, as you can hardly tell him you were up more than half the night dodging fireballs. And don't think I'm going to let you off easy, I need the first blooms of the—”

Merlin was asleep, or doing a good enough job pretending, with his head on the table, pillowed on his arms. Gaius set the kettle down gently, made sure the blanket wouldn't fall off Merlin's shoulders, and left to meet Arthur in his chambers before he could send a knight down. He would try to take as long as possible with his examination to give Merlin more time to rest.

Merlin woke to a silent room filled with the dull blue light of dusk. He had a crick in his neck and his mouth was dry. His back was cold, the blanket pooled around the legs of the chair. Stretching his neck, he looked around for Gaius but saw no one. It must be near or right after five o'clock, yet neither Gaius nor Arthur had rudely disturbed him? He stood and bent to retrieve the blanket, but a movement caught the corner of his eye. He paused. Something near the corner that led to his room, of which the door was open a crack. That was strange, he always closed and locked it when he left, and he hadn't been in it since the night before his fight with the old woman. Perhaps Gaius? But Gaius is the one who made it a point to close the door, and if he left when Merlin was sleeping, he would have closed it just in case Merlin was surprised by Arthur or a patient.

He finished picking up the blanket, staring straight ahead and giving himself over to his peripheral. Slowly, he folded the blanket and placed it on the back of the chair. There! Just a flicker of a shadow, made at once apparent and disguised by the strange light of early evening. He felt a shiver down his spine and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up. There was something here that didn't belong.

Slowly he walked towards his room, letting his magic slide down to his hands. It felt a little sluggish from yesterday, pricking his fingers, the sensation similar to if his hand had fallen asleep. In a lunge he threw upon the door, arm raised, and gathered his breath. Nothing, except his sagging mattress and a few clothes strewn about. He was reminded of last night, when the woman appeared behind him. He whipped around, but again, nothing. His shoulders relaxed, heavy, and he laughed a little at himself. A trick of the light, and he was off like a hound smelling blood, acting like a fool. Wherever Gaius was, he would be back soon, and likely expecting supper.

Merlin left his room to stand by the dining table, closed his eyes, and lit all the candles with a word. Warm light sprang up on the other side of his eyelids and he allowed himself a small smile. He took a step forward and stumbled, suddenly dizzy. He opened his eyes. When was the last time he had eaten something? A day ago, at least. He decided to light the hearth by hand, and heaved up the heavy cast iron pot.

**....................**

Gaius returned just as Merlin was contemplating eating the old man's share of soup. He looked at Gaius and let his eyes flash just as he sat down. The bowl steamed and Gaius frowned at him without anger.

“Where've you been?” Merlin asked.

Gaius ate two spoonfuls before answering. “Where you haven't.”

“Arthur?”

Gaius nodded.

“No one woke me up. Imagine that, Merlin sleeping for several hours undisturbed—now that's unheard of! Come on, what did you tell him?”

“Why, that you had been up half the night.”

Merlin's spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.

“Gaius, you didn't...you wouldn't say anything about the attack, you—” he began to panic a little on instinct until he saw Gaius's poorly concealed smile. He let his spoon rest with a clink.

“You told him I was at the tavern again, didn't you? Gaius, he'll never let me out of the stables!”

Gaius laughed but shook his head.

“No Merlin, had I done that I can assure you he would have been down here with a bucket of water before I could stop him. I told him we had a patient late last night, and that you tended to him until morning so that I could sleep. I don't think he believed me, but he was too distracted to question it.”

Merlin was quiet, turning this over in his mind as he scooted a carrot around his nearly empty bowl. Arthur must have been very distracted to warrant giving Merlin a break.

“I believe that carrot has reached it's full saturation.” Gaius said, drawing Merlin from his thoughts.

“Ah. Yes, that's just what I was waiting for, soaked carrot.”

“Merlin, are you quite alright?”

He considered lying for a moment, but felt too tired to try.

“When I woke up, in the evening, I thought I saw something.”

Gaius thought this over while fishing a piece of potato from his bowl.

“And?”

“It was nothing, really. A trick of the light. But I can't shake the feeling that there's something here that doesn't belong.”

“You think it has to do with the old woman?”

“Maybe. I'm not sure. I didn't hear her say any sort of death curse, and her magic never touched me. Well, it touched my magic, but only that once, at the end, and I used a deflection spell, nothing absorbent. She sort of fell on me when she died, but I didn't feel anything.”

“I saw her body for myself. She was definitely dead, but it was the strangest thing.”

Merlin waited for him to continue, ignoring the now familiar sensation of a chill down his back and a pricking on his neck. He wanted to turn around, was almost positive that something was watching him, but Gaius clearly registered nothing out of the ordinary.

“She had no teeth, as you said, but she also had no tongue.”

“That would explain her spells. They were all garbled and I could hardly make out that she was speaking.”

“It is good you didn't let her magic touch you. Despite her appearance, or maybe because of it, I fear it would have been for the worst.”

They finished in silence, and Gaius retired early. Merlin burned a candle to a stump in his room, paging through his thick spell book for anything on magical fire. He could only find what he already knew. He fell asleep without realizing, the woman's silver eyes and gaping mouth working their way into his dreams.

**....................**

Merlin woke before the sun rose. Today, he knew, he would have to make up for all the duties and chores he missed yesterday, and his plan was to do everything he could think Arthur would ask while Arthur was still dreaming whatever it is that royalty dreams. He smiled just thinking of the look that would be on Arthur's face. As he filled the wash basin from a chipped ceramic ewer, he played out the conversation in his head. Arthur wouldn't bother asking if Merlin was well rested, he would go straight to listing the endless, often ridiculous tasks he had no doubt spent all night thinking of. Merlin would let him finish as he dressed him, would let that self-satisfied smirk just start to make its first appearance of the day, and would then politely inform him that he had done all those things already, and would there be anything else, sire? He would have to be careful not to laugh.

He splashed his face with the cold water, reached blindly for a towel, scrubbed himself dry and opened his eyes. The water was entirely black, with no trace of his reflection. He instinctively felt his face and the water swirled, as if by its own accord, mesmerizing him. It was a blackness like the bottom of a well or subterranean cave, a place that had never and would never see light. The darkness was familiar, like he had been to that place before; no, like it was a place he was going to be, but the memory—premonition?—was so faint that it must be a very long time from now, or a very long time ago.

He wasn't frightened and it wasn't the first time he'd accidentally projected things onto the water's surface. He leaned over the bowl, unable to stop himself, when a cold breeze washed over his back. He shivered and tore his eyes away, looking to close the window, but the window was already closed. He turned around the room slowly, trying to find the source of the draft. His bedroom door was still shut with a length of rough fabric wedged into the crooked gap at the bottom to stop just such a draft—there was nowhere it could have come from. He looked back at the bowl, but the water was clear now. Lovely, he was losing his sanity at a remarkable pace. Not wanting to be alone anymore, he dressed quickly and left Gaius snoring on his cot; he could nick a few buns from the kitchen when he went to see to Arthur's breakfast.

The mindless chores passed quickly with a liberal dose of magical assistance. He'd done everything he could think Arthur would ask, even going so far as to sweep out the holding cells, which wasn't his job at all but needed doing. The only things left concerned Arthur's room. His strange experience with the washing basin, and his paranoia from last night, burned away with the strong morning sunlight. He ascended the stairs to Arthur's chambers, bristling with satisfaction and a touch of smugness; his magic hummed through him, steady and almost happy, the way it always did when he used it for Arthur.

He knocked at the door, a politeness he usually ignored, but the set up had to be perfect. Expecting no answer, he almost pushed his way in when a voice gave him pause. It was a deep voice, guttural, and it sounded like it was right on the other side of the door. When he placed his hand on the solid oak, the voice rose to a harsh, sustained note. He felt his magic flare in him fiercely, coupled with the same tingling between his shoulder blades he'd felt yesterday and this morning.

“Arthur!” he shouted as he barged his way in, hand out to reach for the vase on the table, ready to knock Arthur unconscious should he need saving. Which, after a few seconds in the room, Merlin realized he did not. Sitting primly at his desk by the window, still in his sleeping clothes but with a quill in hand, he had clearly been awake for some time working on the papers strewn in front of him. Merlin made his way over to the desk, surreptitiously looking behind the dressing screen and squinting carefully at the curtains.

“Yes?” Arthur answered, largely unfazed by Merlin's behavior. His entrances were often strange, if not completely bizarre, and Arthur had long gotten used to them. He almost enjoyed anticipating what odd way Merlin would enter his chambers each morning.

“You—the voice? Did you hear that?” Merlin was clearly distressed, not unusual, but hearing voices was new.

“I heard myself say 'come in', which I suppose you did, though in a rather excited manner.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” He tried to laugh but it came out too high pitched. He cleared his throat and seemed to notice for the first time that Arthur was already awake. The buzz between his shoulders faded.

“You're awake.”

“How very observant of you.”

Merlin was at a loss, his plan falling apart by the second.

“I'll...go fetch your breakfast, then.” He tried not to sulk out of the room when Arthur called him back.

“Merlin, wait. There's something else I want you to do.”

Merlin brightened at this, sure that he had already done it. Arthur seemed to struggle with what he wanted to ask, no doubt having difficulty deciding which idiotic chore from a selection of many he wanted to subject Merlin to.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked, without looking up from a heavily ink-blotted page.

The question took Merlin off guard, and he half suspected it to be a trap.

“Fine,” he answered with caution. “Thank you for...yesterday,” he offered.

Arthur looked up, frowned.

“For, uh, letting me sleep. After staying up with the...patient.”

“Ah,” he said, looking back to his papers, though still not writing anything down, “Gaius insisted.”

That's it? Gaius insisted? Merlin didn't buy it.

“Arthur, what's wrong.”

“Nothing, why?”

“You're acting odd, you—“

“Will you write something for me?”

“Excuse me?”

Arthur powered forward, forcing confidence on himself, exuding the sense that he knew exactly what he was doing. It was the best way, he found, to get what he wanted, particularly when he felt his courage lagging.

“My father wants me to write this announcement of sorts, more of a speech, to the farmers of last season's crops. He thinks if we, or I, commend them personally, it will raise their morale a bit after the harsh frost. Being of distinguished and noble birth--” and here Merlin could practically see him preening “--I don't have any bloody clue what farmers find inspiring. You're peasant enough though, you should be able to think of something passable. Assuming you can write, of course.”

Merlin dragged a chair from the table over, snatched a quill from Arthur's desk and viciously inked it.

“You know I know how to write.” Arthur smiled, knowing the jab would seal the deal. Merlin knew he'd been duped, regardless of the fact that he would have done it anyway. It wasn't fair of Arthur to be sitting like that in the morning sun, loose linen shirt glowing, contemplating the well being of his people, making him look every inch the king Merlin wanted him so badly to be. Arthur's eyes were calm and clear this morning, early mornings being the only time he regularly let his guard down—it was on these occasions that Merlin could practically see Uther's crown resting on Arthur's head. He realized in that moment that he had been staring at Arthur for probably too long, or that they had been staring at each other. He grabbed some paper from Arthur's side of the desk to distract himself.

“Although,” he said, picking up their conversation, “I wouldn't be surprised if you're asking me to do this because you secretly can't write.”

Arthur laughed in his face.

“Merlin, that's ridiculous, you've seen me write.”

Merlin shrugged, suppressing his grin. “I don't know, I've seen you with a quill and some parchment but I don't think I've seen you in the act of writing. It's okay, you can trust me not to tell anyone. But the knights should probably know, for security reasons—anyone claiming to have something written by you would be lying, of course. Does Morgana know? She'd probably tell Gwen.”

The only warning Merlin got was a creak of Arthur's chair, and then he was trapped in the crook of Arthur's arm, his head of the receiving end of Arthur's knuckling against his scalp. He flailed uselessly and tried to trip Arthur to the ground.

“Get off, you maniac prince!”

“Take it back, you know I can write!”

“Help! The prince has gone insane, he's attacking servants!”

“Why, you—” Arthur was surely going to call him several choice names, but Merlin finally succeeded in hooking a foot around Arthur's ankle and tripping him. Arthur kept his death grip around Merlin's neck and they both went down as the door opened and Uther came in.

“Arthur, how is the—I see.”

Merlin scrambled to his feet and offered Arthur a hand, which he quickly batted away.

“Father, I was just...” he was at a loss for words and shot Merlin a dark look that said _you, explain, now_. Uther waited, looking at some point above Merlin's shoulder.

“Sire, he was, uh, helping me up. I came in to see if he needed me to refill the inkwell, since he's been writing so much. For the speech. I mean the farmers. I tripped on the rug, because I'm clumsy.” Here he laughed, voice again pitched too high, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

“I see,” Uther said again, though he didn't.

“I'll have the speech done by lunch, father.”

Uther nodded. “See that you do,” he said, and left quickly, closing the door behind him. It disturbed him that, while he loved his son and was more proud of him each year, he often didn't understand him.

Arthur grabbed Merlin by the back of his neckerchief and dragged him to the chair before he could protest.

“Enough of your doltery, time for you to start writing.”

“Doltery?”

“Shut up. I've written a beginning bit that you should use because it's probably better than anything you're going to come up with. Here.” He rifled through the stained parchment and gave Merlin a piece torn in half.

“'Farmers, citizens of Camelot, respectable and hardworking men of the earth, plowmen, tillers, shepherds, you have planted and sown the food, the life, of this kingdom.' Well, now that you've told them who they are and what they do, I don't think there's much left to say.”

Arthur came around and cuffed him on the back of the head.

“Just copy it down and start from there.”

Merlin waved him off. “Fine, fine. And what are you going to do while I write your speech for you?”

Arthur stiffened a bit before answering. “I'm going to watch you.”

“What?”

“As much as it pains me to admit, I would be a foolish prince if I didn't realize there are still things I can learn from others. How to speak to farmers and peasants, for example, and what better source to learn from than a genuine peasant from a farming village.” He gave Merlin a sickening smile. Merlin was starting to think Arthur had been born with a special talent for taking any compliment and turning it into an insult.

“How gracious of you,” Merlin said drily. Arthur inclined his head gracefully.

“So?”

“So be quiet so I can write.”

Arthur obliged and read over Merlin's shoulder as he started outlining the speech, asking questions and offering remarks every once in a while, or even nodding in approval when Merlin managed to phrase something particularly well. The morning passed quietly, and by noon they had a passable speech. Merlin shook out his wrist and handed Arthur the leaves of parchment.

“Excellent, I'll show this to Morgana for any final touches and then give it to father.”

“You show your speeches to Morgana?” Merlin asked, both surprised and a little put out.

“Of course, if I didn't involve her in these 'plight of the common man' efforts she'd have my head. Oh, and I forbid you to tell her of your involvement.”

Merlin nodded and left it at that; he was used to getting no credit. Arthur fanned the pages absently.

“Lunch?” Merlin offered.

“Dear god, yes,” Arthur answered. “I'm starving, make sure you get enough, but not that new cheese from last night, I didn't like it.”

“You should add that in at the end: 'And to the farmer whose cows made the cheese from last night...'” This earned him a faint smile, and left Merlin satisfied enough. He stood, stretched, and turned toward the door, feeling a bit floaty and entirely at peace.

“Merlin.”

They both paused. The pleasant, thrilling buzz between his shoulders started up again.

“Thank you.”

It was the last words Merlin was expecting, but the ones he craved to hear, and it was like a pure sphere of light rose from his stomach to his chest. The tingling in his spine turned suddenly sharp, stinging, and frigid hands slammed against his shoulders, from the _inside_ , as if they were trying to push out of his body. It felt like every scrap of warmth was being leeched from his body, the lightness from his chest tugged hard, as if something were trying to breath it in. He staggered, hand clutching his tunic at the chest.

“Hah hah, Merlin, very funny, my kindness gives you a heart attack. Point made, now go get lunch.”

The coldness receded and Merlin left quickly without saying anything. He wasn't sure he could.

By the time he reached the kitchens, the feeling had mostly faded, but Merlin was left badly shaken. He asked one of the kitchen girls to get a servant to bring up Arthur's lunch, and told her to pass along that Gaius had demanded his help with something. He left before she could think of any reason to say no.

**....................**

Calling Kilgarrah in the middle of the day wasn't the smartest thing to do, but he needed answers, or at least vague hints. What he had attributed to exhaustion and paranoia after the strange encounter with the old woman he knew now to be something else entirely. The woman had cursed him, he was sure of it, though what it's purpose was he could not guess. She had died, so it could be some sort of final revenge, but Merlin had never met her before and felt that she must have been working alone.

Merlin had made a clearing hidden in plain sight long ago. It wasn't too far into the woods and he had disguised it with the illusion of rotting fallen logs. No one had bothered to move them and he was pleased to see the logs had decayed a bit more since the last time he was here. He wasn't sure if illusory magic was supposed to become self directed, but it was more a benefit than concern.

He wasn't sure Kilgarrah would come though part of him suspected the dragon was not able to refuse Merlin's call. Merlin had been prepared to wait several hours and was surprised when not half an hour passed before Kilgarrah swooped down and landed in the false fallen logs. He dipped his head low in acknowledgement of Merlin's summons and Merlin did the same, hiding his unease at the thought that Kilgarrah looked older, somehow less sturdy.

He wasted no time.

“There's something wrong with me.”

To his credit, the dragon didn't laugh. He tilted his head, much in the way a large bird eyes its dinner from above.

“And what is it this time, young warlock?” Merlin could hear the trace of amusement and chose to ignore it.

The story came out in a rush.

“There was a woman, I think she did something to me. She ambushed me in the village and I led her to the forest so she wouldn't start shooting her magic all around town. She was old, I think, but it was hard to tell—she tried throwing some fireballs at me, I thought maybe she was trying to kill me, but now I'm not so sure. I deflected her fire and when I turned around she died, I didn't even do anything. She had no teeth, and Gaius says she had no tongue. I couldn't understand her spells so I can't find out anything about them.”

Merlin took a breath, shifted his weight, and continued.

“I thought maybe she was just insane, but ever since our fight I've been having strange feelings, small things, but today, this morning, it happened almost violently around Arthur.”

The dragon interrupted him with what may have been a snort of laughter, had he been human.

“Really, warlock, you've made your feelings for the prince quite clear on several occasions. Surely you're not asking for my help in your personal affairs?”

Merlin scowled at him, but wouldn't be deterred.

“What I _mean_ is that I kept getting these feelings of...being watched, like there was someone behind me all the time, or catching things out of the corner of my eye. My magic was a bit sluggish last night, I thought maybe from the fight. But this morning, right before I entered Arthur's chambers, I heard a voice. It sounded like it was coming from the other side of the door, like it was yelling almost, but when I went in only Arthur was there. I could sense the magic somewhere though, I just don't know where. And then before I left, as I was walking to the door, there was this horrible chill and a push from...from inside me, against my shoulders, like someone was gripping me but trying to get _out_ of me and I felt my magic waver or trip or something, like it was pulling it, taking it with it. And it was, well, strange,” he finished lamely. His heart was beating hard just at the memory of the sensation of something trying to get out of him.

There was a long silence in which neither said anything. Merlin felt his feet getting a bit numb. Arthur would probably be annoyed at him for not bringing him lunch. He felt a pang of regret at having left so suddenly, and a thought bubbled up that he should go to him now, forget the dragon, that he should go to Arthur.

“Merlin,” the dragon said suddenly, voice harsh and serious but strangely gentle all at once. “What color eyes did the woman have?”

Merlin felt his impatience turn into frustration.

“What? What does that have to do with any of this? I tell you I think I've basically been possessed by something probably trying to kill Arthur and you ask me what color her eyes were?”

The dragon said nothing but stared at Merlin.

“I don't remember,” Merlin sighed, “Brown, maybe?”

The dragon gave him a look that made Merlin feel very small and very stupid all at once, and waited. Merlin stared him down before realizing what he meant.

“Oh, they were gold, they flashed gold, as usual for a magic user. At least I think they did, it was hard to tell at night, but they did look a bit silver in the moonlight.” Something about that didn't sound quite right and he frowned trying to figure out what and why.

A hot wind washed over Merlin's face as the dragon released a sharp breath and flapped his leathery wings once in agitation.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, but it was because...” Merlin trailed off as he suddenly understood his mistake. “No, they were silver, they were because there was no moon out—well there was but I covered it with clouds, it was too dim to reflect off her eyes like that. I've never seen that before, what does this mean?”

The dragon looked away like he knew but did not want to say.

“You must tell me, if Arthur's life is in danger—”

The dragon reared up, his voice echoing off the sound barriers Merlin had cast over them.

“It is not for you to tell me what I must do, and your penchant for rash action has proven you to be a poor listener. I will consider telling you what I know, but first you must promise me that you will do exactly as I say.”

Merlin was silent. They both knew his answer

The dragon settled again and folded his wings. He considered Merlin for a long moment and seemed to reach some conclusion.

“Even after all this time? I gave you my word I would never forget your mercy. But, I expected as much.” Merlin couldn't tell if the dragon was disappointed or merely resigned. There was no way, though, that Merlin would make him another promise.

“I am sorry, but you know I cannot promise you.”

“Be aware, then, that I will then only tell you part of what I know, and it is not wise to press me for more. You are dealing with a magic that is not just beyond your own, but of a different realm. If you will not follow my instructions I cannot trust you with the power of full knowledge.”

Merlin rapidly assessed his options. The dragon could ask him to do anything, there was no guarantee that his commands would be limited to the present situation. But if he didn't know everything about what he was facing, he could make a stupid decision that could get him or Arthur killed. Though the last time he kept a promise to Kilgarrah, Camelot had burned for days and hundreds had been killed. No, he decided, he was better off using bits and pieces of whatever the dragon had to say and working from there. He could proceed cautiously, or as cautiously as time would allow.

“Fine,” he answered. “Tell me what you can.”

“You know the true circumstances of Arthur's birth?”

The question took Merlin off guard, but he nodded. “Yes, his mother couldn't conceive so Uther enlisted the help of a Nimueh. Arthur's mother died in childbirth to restore the balance of a life created by magic.”

“In brief, yes. Arthur's life was not only created by magic, it was created with magic.” He paused meaningfully, as if he expected Merlin to get the hint.

“What's the difference?” he asked bluntly.

“The difference, warlock, is that when a life is created _with_ magic, it is infused with magic, and the child born would have abilities. They may not be powerful, or the child may not ever be able to fully realize their potential, but the magic would be part of them nonetheless. A life given _by_ magic is only bestowed a limited sentience and would retain no magic of its own. Have you not given life to objects before, bidding them bend to your will?”

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. He didn't really think he had given life to the various brushes and brooms he used for chores, but they did seem to have moods of their own. What happened when he ended the spell? Was that like killing them? He pushed that thought forcibly away.

“Well, Arthur doesn't have any magical abilities. Obviously.”

“No, no he doesn't.” The dragon paused again, staring at him. Merlin fought the urge to roll his eyes or stamp his foot.

“So you're telling me that Arthur doesn't have magic, but he should. Where did the magic go?”

“Precisely.” The dragon looked pleased, but Merlin was still confused. If Arthur was supposed to have magic, ignoring all the other feelings this stirred up, then it must have been destroyed somehow. Merlin shuddered at the thought of having magic forcibly removed, and thought it a fate worse than death. Who had destroyed Arthur's? It can't have been that much when he was a child in the womb, but Merlin couldn't even think of how one would go about doing that. They'd have to be very powerful. Nimueh created his life, perhaps she had been able to remove the magic—on Uther's orders? It would be impossible to destroy it completely. Disperse it, maybe. Contain it. _Oh_.

“You're telling me,” Merlin said, his voice wavering, “that the magic that was supposed to be in Arthur was taken out somehow. That Nimueh removed it, contained it, and...what, raised it?”

The dragon nodded. “To an extent. I do not know the specifics, I was not aware she had done this. But it has been done before. I believe she removed Arthur's magic and trained it to use against Uther. It seems the creature inside you is Arthur's magic gone dark and wild, what is called a shade. It is like Arthur's other half and had it been in different hands it could have been scattered back into the earth where it would not have developed.”

Merlin stared. He fought the urge to reply, petulantly, that he thought _he_ was Arthur's other half.

“Is it alive in any way?” he asked, meaning, of course, could he kill it.

“It is not a life, merely the magical residue of one, but it is extremely powerful. It will seek to return to Arthur now that it is no longer bound by Nimueh, and when it does, if the shock of the joining does not kill him, the force of its magic will surely drive him mad. They have been separated for far too long for successful rejoining. How it transferred to you, I do not know. I have only heard of such creatures traveling from mortal to mortal, using their bodies as vessels for magic. ”

He paused, then added thoughtfully, “The woman's missing teeth and tongue were, perhaps, attempts to stop spell casting while she was still sane.”

Merlin grimaced. “When I killed Nimueh...did this release it?”

The dragon looked at him with passable pity. “Yes.”

“Its presence feels cold, like it's taking my magic. Can it do that?”

“A shade would be incompatible with a sorcerer's own magic—this is likely the source of any difficulties you have had casting. I have only known shades to feed from raw magic. Elementals. There is a chance that it has been weakened and is attempting to feed off your magic, but it can't take more than its capacity allows. ”

This would be a relief if Merlin had any idea what the shade's capacity was. As far as he could tell, the thing could suck out all his magic and still not be full.

“Nimueh was aware of my position in Camelot, as Arthur's servant, it's possible she transferred this knowledge to the shade. And she knew about Emrys. It seems I'm the most desirable candidate, how wonderful.” Merlin said, bitterly.

The dragon inclined its head and eyed him thoughtfully.

“You must be extremely cautious, Merlin, for the shade can travel through touch. While it remains in you it poses little direct threat to Arthur, but you place yourself in great danger if you choose to be its keeper. The longer it inhabits your body the more control it will gain over you and your magic.”

Merlin nodded, suspecting as much. The woman had fallen on him when she died, it must have transferred to him then, though he was surprised he hadn't felt it. What he felt when she threw a fireball at his shield had been numbing, though, in a way, and it was cold like the shade's presence. The dragon remained silent and Merlin knew he'd reached the end of what it would tell him. He shifted his weight to his other foot and thought things over.

Arthur's shade, living in his body? The voice on the other side of the door must have been it projecting, calling, trying to get to Arthur or trying to get him to Arthur. The cold slam inside his shoulders was it trying to break out of his body like a prison cell, and it could easily take his magic with it. It could have transferred when Arthur grabbed him, why didn't it? Uther's approach, maybe? Or was it still too weak? After a long silence, Merlin finally spoke.

“What do I need to do to get rid of it? You said it could be scattered?”

The dragon almost looked sorry. “This, I cannot tell you.”

“Can't, or won't?”

“Both. I have shared all that I am able. Farewell, and be careful young warlock.” The dragon stretched its wings and turned to fly away, apparently done with the conversation.

“Wait—one more thing. When I looked into a wash basin this morning the water turned dark. Almost black, like a cave. I had the sense that I'd seen it before, but then it was gone.”

The dragon stilled and looked over its shoulder. “That, warlock, will only concern your future self.” He lifted off and flew high, scales flashing in the sunlight. Merlin swore.

“Gaius, we have a problem!” Merlin shouted as he pushed the door to their chambers open with one arm. He stopped short of the doorway when he saw Arthur sitting, expression flat and eyes unreadable, at the table.

“Yes, Merlin, it seems we do have a problem. Should I enlighten you?”

“Um,” Merlin said elegantly as he edged his way inside. “No, thanks, I think I know what it is. I couldn't find that thing that Gaius wanted.”

At this Gaius emerged from between a bookshelf and a basket stacked high with random objects. He was holding a dusty flask in one hand and a book in the other. Merlin desperately tried to catch his eye as Arthur sat trying to burn a hole through his head.

“That. Thing.” Arthur said slowly.

“Yes! Gaius asked me to fetch something and I uh, I couldn't find it. That's a problem.”

Arthur said nothing but Gaius must have had some pity left in him because he filled the silence and ended Merlin's staring match with Arthur.

“Ah, right, the nettle. You couldn't find it? I hardly see how that's possible, it's common as a weed in the forest.” Not so much pity then.

“Yes, well, maybe it's still too early for it. What with the lingering frost and all.”

“Actually, as you should well know, this is exactly when it is widely abundant, and when it needs to be picked. Another month or two and it will be too old and fibrous. Hence the importance of your task.”

Arthur never took his eyes from Merlin and he couldn't tell if Arthur was amused at his suffering or just angry at him.

“And,” Merlin tried to say wisely, “why we have a problem. A serious problem.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow at this but seemed to understand what Merlin was getting at.

“Sire, you'll have to forgive Merlin on my behalf, I asked him to collect an herb and heaven knows how he failed, but it is of utmost importance. I will send him to your chambers directly after I speak with him.” This was as close as Gaius would ever get to politely asking Arthur to leave, and Merlin fidgeted with impatience.

“See that you do, Gaius. Thank you.” He stood and made to walk out the door without saying anything more when he stopped and grabbed Merlin's arm.

“You—” he broke off at Merlin's frantic flailing, his hand losing its grip as Merlin tore away and backed too quickly into a small apothecary. Glass rattled inside. They stared at each other, but Merlin's ears were roaring with a guttural, inhuman cry, and he could feel the same cold pressure from Arthur's room pressing hard against the inside of his chest. The edges of his vision were rimmed in darkness. His breathing came fast and heavy and Arthur's expression shifted, as if he couldn't decide on a single one.

Finally he said, “Within the hour. The fireplace needs sweeping,” and left.

Merlin slowly walked over to the table and sat down heavily, rubbing his chest. Gaius set down the flask and book and sat across from him.

“A problem indeed. What, may I ask, was that?”

Merlin recounted to Gaius everything the dragon had told him. Gaius sat silently, only nodding on occasion. When Merlin finished Gaius sighed deeply.

“I have only heard of such creatures,” he began, choosing his words very carefully, “I did not know if they were mere cautions to those curious and stupid enough to toy with life magic, or if they were truly in existence. I have no knowledge of how to destroy one so old. When the magic is first taken from the child in the womb, it is unformed and can be scattered or dispelled, as the dragon said. But to raise the magic into a being all its own is unheard of.”

Merlin thumped his head against the table. The cold in his chest had receded, but the sensation of being watched lingered between his shoulders. A dull pressure in his mind encouraged him to go to Arthur now, quickly, and he recognized the thought from the dragon's clearing. This thing inside him was urging him, quietly but persistently, to seek out Arthur. It didn't take much, he was always aware of Arthur, always ready to be by his side at any given second. He would have to be more careful than just avoiding touch, he would have to avoid Arthur completely.

“Merlin,” Gaius said gently. Merlin raised his head and they looked at each other.

“It's just—when he touched my arm, I could feel his shade trying to get out of me. I couldn't do anything about it, it felt like it was going to rip right out of my chest, and take my magic with it.”

Gaius frowned, extremely worried. “Merlin, you don't think this creature could harness your magic for itself, do you?”

Merlin paused, feeling his own magic flow warm and familiar through him.

“No, I don't think it can use my magic like that. Not unless it's in me for awhile. Normally it inhabits mortals, so any magic they show is its own. It can't control my magic, but I think it can feed off of it, a little. And it can...make suggestions. Like right now I have this overwhelming urge to go to Arthur, even though I know I shouldn't.”

“Ah,” was all Gaius said.

“Don't worry, I'll think of something.” Merlin stood and tried to give Gaius his most reassuring smile, but from Gaius's expression he could tell it didn't go far. “Really, Gaius, don't worry. I've been in worse spots before and have come out whole again.”

Gaius stood and picked up his flask and book again. “Yes, it seems you are very capable of getting yourself into novel situations, and rather lucky at finding novel solutions. I hope your luck doesn't run out.”

“Me too,” was all Merlin could say in response. He walked towards the door.

“Merlin,” Gaius called when he opened the door, “be careful.”

The rest of the day was barely tolerable.

Arthur hardly spoke more than was necessary, not even pausing to banter or insult him or knock him upside the head. Actually, Arthur made a point of keeping several feet between them at all times, which Merlin was at first grateful for, but as they moved stupidly around Arthur's chambers, chasing each other in slow motion as Merlin went about mindless tasks and Arthur kept moving one step ahead, Merlin felt he rather deal with the shade than the tension. After an hour of cleaning up the room and Arthur studiously ignoring him, Merlin stopped and watched Arthur stare out the window, arms crossed over his chest. He knew that expression. It was the overly guarded one, the one that meant Arthur was feeling something, god forbid.

“I'm sorry I didn't bring up lunch,” Merlin offered, knowing that directly attacking the problem was the best and worst tactic. Arthur's head whipped around.

“As if I care about that—you have duties to attend to, and I have been more than lenient, on Gaius's behalf, for the past two days. What's the point of being my servant if you don't do what you're told? If your mind is so often elsewhere, perhaps it's time I hired someone who can follow instructions.”

It stung, but Merlin stood his ground. “Gaius asked me to get supplies, I had to go or else—”

“Or else nothing!” Arthur's hands flew up in frustration and he stalked around the desk to stand in front of Merlin. He pointed an accusing finger, eyes narrowed.

“Don't give me that, I know Gaius was covering for you. I don't know why, and if you don't want to tell me, fine, but don't stand there and lie to me.”

Ah, Merlin thought, the root of the issue. Arthur lowered his finger but not his eyes and Merlin could feel the cold pressure build up behind his own. God how he wanted to reach out to Arthur, trace the tendons of his neck with his fingertips, wrap his hands around Arthur's throat and press, press, until he—Merlin broke eye contact sharply and shook his head. _No_. He dug the palms of his hands into his closed eyes until he saw sparks and loops of light.

“I'm sorry. Headache,” was all he could say. The shade's control was advancing faster than he anticipated; if he didn't figure something out in the next few days he and Arthur would probably both be dead.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice quieter, “what is going on.” It was a command, not a question, but there was earnestness in Arthur's voice. It tugged at Merlin, compelled him to tell the truth. He considered it, briefly. But Arthur had reacted with such violence to the story of his birth, there was no telling how he would react to knowing he had a magical counterpart that had been removed from him in the womb and now wanted back in.

He dropped his hands and looked past Arthur's shoulders with bleary vision.

“I...have a problem.” He was going to regret this.

Arthur snorted. “I'm sensing a theme today.”

“No I mean I have a problem, like a...a personal problem. Gaius has been helping me, but I didn't want to tell you because...because I didn't want to be replaced?” He says it like an offering and he can see that Arthur isn't buying it. He turns around to walk back to the window. The hard line of Arthur's back is too much for Merlin so he blurts out, “I have a drinking problem!” Yes, he was going to regret this.

It's not much but it gets Arthur to face him. He folds his arms and eyes Merlin suspiciously.

“Do you.”

“Yes, at least I think I do. Maybe. Probably. You know how it is, you go down to the tavern and people buy you drinks and before you know it...anyway, yes and Gaius has been helping me.” He was rambling so he stops there, somehow out of breath.

Arthur looks at him thoughtfully and Merlin fights not to squirm under the inspection. He feels like an idiot, he doesn't want Arthur to think of him this way, but he would do and has done more than make a fool of himself to protect him.

“Why did you nearly trip over yourself when I left Gaius's chambers today?” Again, he says it like a command and not a question. It's so blunt and forward that for a second Merlin has no response, truthful or otherwise.

“Oh, that. The um, the lack of alcohol in my blood for prolonged periods makes me sensitive. I mean touchy, you know, too quick to react to things. Gaius told me it might happen.”

“And the headache you have,” Arthur filled in for him.

“Yes, and the headache.”

Arthur considered all this then said, “Don't let strangers buy you drinks. It's clear you're an idiot and it's not unknown to the town that you are my servant. Someone could try to use you to get to me, and I don't need your carelessness creating any more problems than it already does.”

Merlin nodded, relieved that Arthur was at least pretending to believe him.

“Alright, get the horses we're going hunting. Fresh air will do you good.”

“What, now? It's almost supper! The light will be gone in an hour.”

Arthur shrugged and gave him that sickly sweet smile. “Then you better hurry.”

The hunting trip was largely unsuccessful, probably due to Merlin complaining loudly about the cold and scaring away any game. They did manage to catch a brace of rabbits and three squirrels, and Arthur resumed his banter and insults though he was careful not to touch him. Once, after Merlin tripped over a branch and got bits of frosty leaves in his hair, Arthur reached out absently to pluck them off. When Merlin immediately shrank away he ended the motion in a lame gesture of _something, there._ Merlin didn't really realize how much physical contact they shared on any given day until one or the other of them consciously stopped. He missed it, but was glad to see Arthur in better spirits. They returned well after dark and Merlin fetched something from the kitchens while Arthur changed out of his hunting gear. When Arthur was seated and picking warily at the cheese, Merlin offered to fill his goblet with wine. Arthur was on the verge of nodding before he placed his hand over the goblet and shook his head.

“Not tonight.”

Merlin felt his face burn. This was so embarrassing, Arthur thought he couldn't even be around someone else drinking, as if Merlin would suddenly start chugging the wine, unable to stop.

“Arthur it's fine, I'm fine.” But Arthur just shook his head and gestured for Merlin to sit across from him, giving him permission to eat. That was even worse, Arthur was trying to be _nice_ about it.

“So, um, how did your father like the speech?” Merlin asked, not really caring but needing something to say.

“He said it was good enough.” Actually, Uther had praised Arthur's insightfulness and turns of phrase, but there was no need for him to contribute to Merlin's ego.

“He loved it, didn't he?”

Arthur scowled and shoved a piece of bread into his mouth.

“Hah! I knew it! I bet he complimented my—I mean your—insightfulness into the farmer's hardships.”

Arthur tried to glare but it was hard with a mouth full of bread and Merlin smiling like that in the flickering glow of the firelight. They finished eating in companionable silence. Merlin cleared the dishes away and returned to see if there was anything else Arthur needed before going to sleep. He shook his head and Merlin snuffed out the candles.

“Good night, Arthur.” Merlin said before closing the door behind him. He could almost hear the eye roll in Arthur's voice. “Good night, Merlin.”

**....................**

When Merlin woke, he was standing in the moonlight. His bare feet were cushioned by a rug that was not his own, and he was staring down at Arthur's sleeping form. He felt a stab of panic but stayed absolutely silent. Why was he here? How long had he been standing over Arthur? Arthur was well asleep, it must be two or three in the morning. His panic rose as he stared at Arthur—was he breathing? The sheets were entirely still, and he looked so pale in the moonlight. Oh god, had the shade made him come here and...was Arthur dead? Immediately he reached out to touch him, to check, when Arthur rolled over and grumbled. He was alive. And Merlin was definitely possessed. He had no memory of coming up here, and he never sleepwalked. The shade had been able to take control of his body and his sleeping mind and send him here. Forget having a few days, he needed to get rid of it _now._ He took several shaky steps back and turned towards the door, catching sight of himself in the darkened mirror. Or what should have been himself, but was instead a reflection of Arthur. Merlin gasped involuntarily. Its eyes were entirely black, no whites showing, and there was no expression, no life, in its face. Merlin fled.

He couldn't go back to his room, there was nothing in his spell book anyway. He thought of calling Kilgarrah again but knew it would be fruitless. He would have to break into Goffrey's library, see if he could cobble together anything.

The library doors yielded to him in silence. He looked around at the jumble of shelves and stacks twice his height, trying to figure out where to start. He'd been working on a finding spell for locating lost or buried draughts, herbs, medicines, and tonics to catalogue for Gaius, but it only worked with a full name and description of the item. Breathing deeply he fought a sneeze and worked out how he could adjust the finding spell. He knew the description but he didn't know the name; well there was no reason why he couldn't name it himself—only things in nature, like trees and animals and flowers needed their true name to respond to a direct spell. He was just looking for a book or a scroll. He reached out his arms and spoke what he hoped was a useful variation of his finding spell. A massive volume hit him in the back of the head, and he barely had time to duck before he was pelted with three more books and an armful of scrolls. Not bad.

He found what he wanted, or as close to what he wanted as he would get, in the second book and on a fire-blackened scroll. The parchment was almost entirely black, though the script had turned silver. There was nothing about how to destroy a shade, but his best bet was what Kilgarrah and Gaius had already said: that the magic of the shade could be dispersed. Generally this was done by the caster, right after the life was created. He would have to go to a much larger scale, and since he was trying to disperse a magic not his own, he would have to combine dispersion spells with whatever he could make up. From what he read, he decided he would have to do it with a ritual, so he would need an excuse to go into the forest. Should he contact the druids? He doubted they would be willing to help, not wanting to mingle with such dark magic. But they might give him space to perform the ritual—they could mask it so he wasn't stumbled upon, because as far as he could tell if the ritual were interrupted he would be dead and the shade released. Silently he conjured up a small sphere of blue light. He whispered into it for a minute and set it off with a word. Hopefully he'd get a response before morning.

He found the original spell used to scatter the unborn magic, and a few others for spreading out the buildup of magic within and around a user. Merlin had never thought that having too much magic would be a problem until he read about an unnamed unfortunate warlock, who, in an attempt to impregnate the wife of a lord in exchange for a land deed and the comforts of nobility, had gone overboard and performed the ritual at some ancient altar. The power he tapped into was too great for his body, and as far as Merlin could tell, he exploded. The ritual he found was written in response to this, and detailed how to spread the magic out should too much pile up. As predawn light began to creep through the dusty windows, Merlin had formed what he hoped was a combination of spells that would smear the shade out enough to dissolve it, leaving Merlin alive but battered. He'd never performed ritual magic and there was no way around the requisite amount of his blood it would require. He would have to be careful, but if it came to destroying the shade and himself in the process or Arthur dying, he had already made that choice.

He returned the books and scrolls to wherever they had come from with a few words, making a mental list of the supplies he'd have to pilfer before Gaius woke up. Nothing unusual, which surprised him, but there was the more serious problem of having to collect Arthur's blood. He only needed a few drops mixed in with his own, just something to draw out the shade; Arthur's blood would be the bait, his own the trap. Blood was a life force, and if he could get the shade to reach out of his body even a little bit to get to Arthur's blood, he might be able to get the rest of the shade to seep out with his own blood. Doing this in the forest would help, as the blood would soak quickly into the snow and ground, and if he could scatter it around the ritual circle, dispersing the shade's magic once it fully left him would be easier. He would need a needle, then, to prick the pad of Arthur's finger. He could collect the blood in a small phial with minimal risk in touching it or Arthur. He nodded to himself; this could work.

As he was about to leave the library, a small orb of green light floated in front of him. He cupped it and it vanished, rippling the still air. A calm, quiet, male voice spoke to him.

“ _We will assist in masking your ritual, Emrys. Please ask no more. You are dealing with very dangerous magic—be cautious. Should you fail in destroying the shade, we cannot guarantee its capture. More lives than Arthur Pendragon's are at risk.”_

Wonderful. He hadn't really thought about what would happen to the forest or the druids if he screwed up. Both would die, probably, and the order didn't really matter since one was so dependent on the other. But if he didn't even try then Arthur would be dead and magic blamed and the druids killed by Uther anyway. The decision, always, would be for preserving Arthur's life—it wasn't even selfish, it was just a fact.

After a moment an image arose in his mind, a small clearing in a heavily wooded area. He got the impression of _West_ and a few other imprints that would guide him there. He made sure he memorized the scene, then snuck out of the library.

He gathered the supplies and Arthur's blood easily enough, though when he first pricked Arthur's finger, hand splayed lazily on top of the duvet and twitching slightly in his sleep, the roaring of the shade was so loud in his head he felt blood trickle out of his ear. He gritted his teeth and ignored it, and left without making a sound. He didn't write Gaius a note, fearful that any indication of where he went or what he intended to do would result in Gaius coming after him, or worse with Arthur coming after him. Gaius had given away where Merlin was before when he thought it dangerous enough to warrant interruption. Arthur was frustratingly adept at tracking, and he knew Merlin well enough that the slightest clue, even a lie, could set him on Merlin's trail. Hopefully Arthur would just assume something stupid and fume at him for a few days and then get over it. If Merlin succeeded.

He distracted the stable boy with a small fire in a hay pile, and lead his mare quietly out the back without bothering to saddle her. He'd ridden without saddle plenty of times in Ealdor—it wasn't comfortable but the incessant pounding in his ears, the cold draped over his shoulders reaching for the phial of Arthur's blood tucked carefully in his satchel, made him not really care much about comfort. Once outside he placed his hand on the white patch on his horse's nose and murmured a few words, easily pressing the image of the clearing into her mind. It was something he figured out after Morgause gave Arthur's horse directions. He made sure to also give it the idea of coming back to Camelot, should he be too weak, or dead, to guide her himself.

The guards at the gate were, as always, bad at guarding. Arthur really should assign more competent men to the post, but the ones who would actually do any good were probably put to better use as knights.

By the time the sun had fully risen, Merlin was engulfed in the cool shadows of trees, steadily making his way west. He tried not to notice how the squirrels, rabbits, and birds fled at his approach, when normally it was the opposite and he had to be loud and annoying to keep them from following him. They knew there was something wrong with him, that he was tainted somehow.

He rode for several hours when he came upon the clearing suddenly, and earlier than he expected. He thought back to the path they'd taken to get here—no one without intention or prior knowledge would be able to find it, and he'd been sure to cover his tracks the moment he rode out of the castle.

“The site is prepared, Emrys. When you begin we shall mask you.”

Merlin jumped and looked down to see a slender woman robed in grey staring up at him passively. He looked at her shrewdly.

“You could have just said hello, or walked up, or given me some kind of warning,” he said, frustrated with his own unease and anxiety at the task that lay before him.

She inclined her head in some sort of deference, stepping back so Merlin could dismount. He felt a bit bad for snapping at her.

“Thank you, for doing this. I don't know where else I could have gone.”

She nodded again. Merlin dismounted, rearranged his satchel, and moved into the clearing. When he turned around, the woman was gone. No time to lose, then.

He cleared the snow, melted the frozen ground, and began.

The shade took the bait of Arthur's blood so quickly it left Merlin gasping, vision dimmed. It was still only halfway through the ritual—he'd have to work fast at this point to bleed the shade out of him entirely. An unadorned knife rubbed in hawthorne oil. A second, smaller blade stained with elderberries. Both made of pure iron, each inflicting a different wound. The slow release of the shade combined with the quick flow of blood weakened his legs, but he spoke the words of the ritual through clenched teeth and walked slowly around the circle, letting the spongy earth soak up everything. The shade was fighting to stay, he could feel the cold pinching his veins, trying to close them, screaming in his mind, as clear and incoherent as the cry of a wounded animal.

On his third walk around the circle he tripped over himself. It had to come out _now_ or he wouldn't be able to complete the ritual. Already he could feel the shade's magic trying to rise back out of the ground, trying to reassemble itself. The scream in his head turned into Arthur's scream, but deeper and more pained than anything Merlin had heard in his nightmares. He struggled to remain conscious, but the coldness spreading out of his chest burned and the blood loss made him too dizzy to stand. He just wanted to be somewhere warm, somewhere with Arthur so he knew he was safe, he wanted to be as close to him as possible for as long as they lived because separating them would be an unforgivable cruelty, one of them would die, _he_ would die, and there was fear in him for the first time, and he had already spent so long away from Arthur, so long outside of him and it was so cold he just wanted to slit Arthur's neck and wash himself in the warmth of Arthur's blood, slit his belly and crawl inside to stretch himself into Arthur's skin—Merlin banged his head on the ground and retched. Abruptly the screaming stopped. The voice of a woman echoed dark and cavernous and Merlin was reminded of the image in his wash basin.

_Is love so far from hate?_

_Is love so far from hate?_

_Is love so far from hate?_

Merlin struggled to his feet—he had to get to the center of the circle where a bundle of dried herbs needed to be burned minutes ago. If only she would be silent he could think, he could—

_Emrys_

A quiet voice, the same that had responded to his request to use the forest, cut through the woman's terrible chanting.

_You must finish._

As if Merlin wanted to lie down and die, but his body wasn't giving him much choice in the matter. He couldn't tell if the shade was still in him, maybe he'd gotten it all out, maybe he _could_ just lie down and die, peacefully, finally, his work complete.

_Emrys, he is here. You must finish._

Merlin felt a pulse in the ground, a dark surge of magic, and any grass, ferns, and saplings within the radius of his circle withered and died. The shade battered against the confines of the circle as Merlin's vision sparked. He inhaled in a moment of respite, right before his fingertips went numb. Arthur was here and the shade knew and he could feel it wade through the blood soaked earth, back to him, seeping into his hands from where they supported him on the ground.

His work was never complete.

**....................**

Arthur was outnumbered seven to one. His hand flexed, squeezing, releasing, squeezing, releasing. He would have been reprimanded by his father for displaying such anxiety to “the enemy” but Uther wasn't here and Arthur wasn't entirely sure the Druids were his enemies. It didn't mean they were his friends, either.

“What,” he said as diplomatically as possible, “do you mean by ordering me to leave. These forests are within the bounds of Camelot, they are my father's and they are mine. Now step aside. I don't want to hurt you.” He added the last bit as an afterthought and immediately regretted it. It sounded weak when he considered his situation; the druids may favor peace, but Arthur didn't doubt their abilities.

The man standing in front of him was slender and shorter than Arthur. He looked too young for the grey in his hair. His calmness was unnerving and embarrassing—Arthur felt like a spooked mare compared to him, ready to react to the slightest provocation. He gazed at Arthur, serene, knowing, but Arthur stopped fidgeting. The late afternoon light dappled the druid's grey robe in a pale green glow.

“The forest,” he said, “belongs to us all.”

Arthur fought the urge to childishly stamp his foot. He didn't have time for this friends-of-the-earth speech, Merlin was here somewhere, he was sure of it, and likely doing something stupid. Arthur would have to save him since he clearly couldn't save himself.

“Well, then you won't mind me continuing my search. Unless,” he paused, dramatically, making sure he had their attention, “you don't want me to find what I seek. Unless you are hiding something.” He casually shifted his weight, letting his hand fall lightly onto the hilt of his sword.

The man gave him a small, enigmatic small.

“Or someone?” the man asked, teasing.

That was the last push Arthur needed and he gladly drew his sword quickly, ready to strike the leader before the rest of the druids encircling him could react. But no sooner had the sword left its sheath than the man's voice filled the clearing, deep and sonorous.

“A jest in poor taste, Arthur Pendragon. Accept my apologies. I would not recommend baring your steel in these woods, not for the sake of my people but for your safety. There are beings here that, despite your denial, still exist, and take the showing of a sword as a grave insult.”

Arthur was about to tell him where he could shove those beings when he realized the druid was purposely distracting him, delaying him. Why did they interfere at all? Why not stay hidden as they always did? He felt sure now that they were hiding Merlin, but to what end he could not guess. He sheathed his sword and stared down the druid in front of him. He got the distinct impression that he was being detained from going forward _and_ from leaving. They wanted him to stay here. If they had Merlin and wanted to keep him, they would have left by now—he'd never heard of the druids ransoming, but then why kidnap Merlin? Why let themselves get caught like this, only to engage in a meaningless and coy conversation? Merlin had definitely come this far, but how much by his own will? Surely he hadn't sought them out. Arthur thought carefully over the past few days, about Merlin's strange behavior towards him, the story about a drinking problem. Arthur knew it was a lie, had only gone along with it to revel in making Merlin uncomfortable, but he had hoped Merlin would eventually tell him the real reason that he was acting so bizarre.

When he'd woken this morning it was to a cold room and a headache. He'd dreamed that he'd seen himself standing over his sleeping body, hands reaching out to press softly against the hollow of his throat, and as he saw his sleeping self wake with a soundless cry he was suddenly staring up at Merlin's face as his throat was crushed as easily as an eggshell, Merlin's eyes flat, unreadable, dead. He woke with a gasp, head pounding, and called for water. His room was silent and stifled. He knew Merlin hadn't been in, and before he really knew what he was doing he had dressed, thrown on his hunting leathers, and ridden out with only a message for the stable boy to pass along.

He hadn't really stopped to think about the merit of looking for Merlin based on a nightmare until he had ridden for three hours straight. It was not logical, but experience told him otherwise—where Merlin was concerned, logic rarely conformed to standards. He just knew, walking through the castle to the stables, that Merlin was gone, and he had used the same stupid tactics of covering his trail as he always did when he wanted to do something dangerous and alone.

The druid's voice shook him from his thoughts.

“You begin to understand,” the druid said to him. Arthur had had enough.

“Enough. Either tell me where he is or get out of my way.” He was already strategizing how to break their circle if they decided to fight. He didn't particularly want to kill them, but he needed to get to Merlin more than he needed to spare their lives. He could probably take one of the lesser druids hostage, the woman on the left edge of his peripheral, who looked like she was favoring one leg more than the other.

“I would, gladly, were it safe for both of you. But I fear he will not be able to return unassisted. I cannot let you pass until he is done,” he said this not unkindly, and Arthur noticed even a little sadly.

“Done with what? I swear, if you've hurt him in any way—”

The man shook his head, cutting Arthur off. “You assume too much of us. To tell you his purpose would be to betray his confidence. I am not prepared to break this trust, even,” he said, looking at Arthur wryly, “upon threat and pain of death.”

He was getting nowhere. “Fine. Can you tell me when he will be done?” This felt absurd, what the hell was Merlin doing here, the druids dealt in magic, there was no reason for him to be—unless—

“Presently. Or it won't matter if you kill us.”

Arthur was going to say more when Merlin's black mare came crashing through the circle of druids. She reared and Arthur tried grabbing her reigns only to realize she didn't have any. He dodged out of the way of her hooves, and he was dimly aware of the druids backing away. She stamped and snorted, flecks of blood flying hot onto his face.

“Help me!” he yelled at the druids, trying to calm her, but she reared again and let out a high scream, falling onto her side when her hooves struck the ground. She heaved once and was dead. He heard his own horse, tied up closer to the edge of the forest, let out a distant, echoing whinny.

Arthur stared, stunned. He heard the lead druid speak behind him, voice urgent, pleading.

“You must go. You are in immediate danger, I cannot guarantee your safety if you linger. If you ride out now, there is a chance you can be protected.”

He jerked his eyes away from the dead horse and spun around. “No, I'm not leaving without Merlin.” The other druids had edged into the trees and Arthur could hardly see them.

“You have no choice. If you leave now he may yet succeed, if you stay then you are both dead.”

Arthur's eyes felt hot and his thoughts narrowed to the single-mindedness they got before a tourney or battle. How could his leaving possible increase Merlin's chances of finishing whatever it is he started? He drew his sword, uncaring, and walked toward the druid with singular purpose. To the man's credit he didn't retreat but his eyes were distant, his attention divided.

“Take me to him now and I might yet spare your life, I don't know what games you're playing but—”

“He has finished,” the druid said suddenly, voice filled with astonishment. “You may go to him. But you may not be pleased with what you find.” Arthur blinked. The next moment all the druids had vanished and a clearing a few yards in front of him appeared. The ground was blackened and every plant in the area was dead. Merlin knelt in the center and they stared at each other, surprised. He was horribly pale, his arms smeared with blood, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Arthur?” Merlin called in a voice so weak that Arthur didn't so much as hear his name as read it from the motion of Merlin's mouth. Merlin crumpled to the ground like a newborn fawn.

**....................**

Arthur's mind was blank as he rode back to Camelot. Even holding Merlin tightly in front of him, he still slipped to the side. Arthur could smell his blood, could feel the barest rise of breath in his stomach, and refused to think about anything until they reached the castle. Once, for a minute, he thought he felt Merlin's breath stop, and had frantically tipped Merlin's head back onto his shoulder, pressing his ear against his mouth. After a pause, a slight, gentle puff warmed his ear and Arthur kicked his horse into a gallop. He let the back of Merlin's head rest on his shoulder so he wouldn't break his stupid neck being jostled on the horse.

It was twilight by the time they reached the castle. He entered through one of the disused, overgrown paths that lead to a section of the training grounds for jousting. There was still too much snow to warrant any lance training, but he tied up his horse near a hedge to make it look as if he had been practicing and was now letting her rest and graze on early buds. He hoisted Merlin down. He was unsettlingly light and Arthur gritted his teeth in a swamp of anger, worry, and weariness. With a grunt he got an arm under Merlin's shoulders and another under his legs. He hadn't bothered to wipe off all the blood, so they were both covered in it at this point, but he had managed to tie strips from his cloak tightly around the wounds on Merlin's arms. In the growing darkness, he carried Merlin across the grounds, skirting around the edge of the main keep, to a secondary servant's entrance that would lead him to Gaius's chambers.

The majority of servants would be in the dining hall or kitchens, or banking the fires of those early to bed, so he nearly jumped when a voice call out behind him.

Arthur turned his head and saw Gwaine down the hall, staring at him, mouth open.

“Gwaine?” Arthur asked, incredulous, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“Arthur, what the hell are—God, is that Merlin?” Gwaine's face shifted from surprise to anger as he ran to catch up with Arthur. Arthur shook his head once to indicate that Gwaine _shut up, right now_ when he realized Gwaine was directing his anger at _him_ , as if he thought Arthur had—what, beaten him to death? Arthur was suddenly furious.

“Gwaine, I've no idea why you're back but be quiet and make yourself useful—I need to get him to Gaius, immediately,” he ordered sharply. Gwaine paused, now in front of him with a hand pressed to Merlin's forehead. Arthur jerked him away without thinking and glared. They stared at each other over Merlin's body for a heavy second, something passing between them which Arthur refused to understand. Gwaine was the first to break his gaze and nodded.

He gave Arthur a half hearted mocking smile. “Yes sire, right away.” He jogged down the hall and Arthur followed as quickly as he could, shifting Merlin so he could feel his head against his chest. He was burning up, his breath too shallow to mark. At the end of the hall Gwaine had opened Gaius's door and Arthur could hear them speaking rapidly.

He made it to the doorway just as Gaius had dragged his own cot over and was saying, “Lay him down here, quickly!”

Arthur dropped Merlin onto the cot as carefully as he could and stood back, waiting. Gaius cleared his throat as he moved in and began to untie the rough bandages Arthur had wrapped around Merlin's wrists. If he was surprised to see Gwaine he gave no indication.

It was a long moment before Gaius spoke. “Sire, I mean no offense, but it would be best if you left. I do not know what has happened to Merlin but I need the space and quiet to treat him. He looks as if he's lost a significant amount of blood.”

Arthur wanted to tell Gaius what had happened, about the druids and the strange, dead circle surrounding Merlin and the earth drenched with blood. The burnt herbs that had been clutched in Merlin's fist. Two daggers that weighed heavily in Arthur's satchel. But he couldn't, not with Gwaine here. He was loathe to leave Merlin but knew he owed his father some sort of explanation as to where he had been, even a false one.

He dropped his satchel on the rough wooden table as he turned to go. “You should have a look in there.”

Gaius frowned but nodded. Arthur moved toward the door where Gwaine stood staring at Merlin.

“Thank you, Gaius. I will be back in the morning. There are a few things I need to discuss. Should Merlin wake before then, please try to restrain him from doing anything else stupid.” Arthur needed answers, and if Merlin had half a chance he would squirrel his way out of giving them. He needed to speak to Gaius, alone, before Merlin could.

“Gwaine, with me,” he ordered. Gwaine had no reason to obey him, but it was worth a try; besides, if Gwaine was found in Camelot, Uther would have his head. He had to get him out, quickly.

“Actually, sire, I could use an extra set of hands. With your permission, I ask that he stay and assist me with Merlin. I doubt he will be discovered here.” He gave Gwaine a sidelong look, half asking his permission for what Gaius volunteered him for.

Arthur thought he did a good job hiding his surprise and anger. He wanted to insist that Gwaine needed to be questioned but Gwaine had already moved into the room and Gaius wasn't really listening anymore, and Arthur was too tired to sort anything out. Merlin was back, and alive for now. There was no real reason for Arthur to stay save for his worry, and as prince he couldn't justify setting aside of his duties for the worry of a servant, even in front of Gaius. There was nothing he could do but leave.

“Very well,” he bit out, and turned to go. He paused once at the door. “One question, Gwaine. Why are you here?”

And there was that infuriating half smile, the flip of the hair. “Just passing through,” he said and _winked,_ the bastard. Arthur stared at him levelly waiting for Gwaine's gaze to drop. It didn't until Gaius distracted them both by demanding Gwaine's help. Arthur realized suddenly that if he had his sword on him he would have drawn it. He left.

He retrieved his horse and stabled her, changed out of his bloodied clothes, then reported to his father. He had ridden out to scout the perimeter of the woods for any strangeness regarding the old woman's death. He had found none. He took the opportunity of melting snow to get in some early practice with the lance, deciding to challenge himself by training in twilight. Wouldn't it be nice to hold a spring tourney a bit early? He was feeling restless after the harsh winter. He said nothing of Gwaine, or Merlin.

Uther listened, pleased by his son's report and a bit distracted by papers requesting repairs near the southeast wall—routine winter damages. It was only when Arthur excused himself, admitting to working a bit too hard in the chill evening, that he noticed his son hadn't eaten anything.

**....................**

Once Arthur left, Gaius moved quickly, pulling off the bandages and examining Merlin's wounds. Gwaine crouched down on the other side of the cot.

“Gaius, what the hell has Merlin done? Does this have to with...you know...” He trailed off and waved one hand of the air in a vague gesture of magic.

Gaius looked at him sharply. “Please fetch me a basin of warm water and the yellow glass jar in the third drawer over there.” Gwaine grimaced but did as Gaius asked. For the next hour they worked in relative quiet, Gaius instructing him to pound a poultice while he tipped a vile smelling liquid down Merlin's throat and held up his head while he gasped weakly. It was alarming but after a few minutes of coughing Merlin settled back down and seemed to breathe more deeply, though he was still unconscious. Gwaine smeared the poultice over Merlin's wounds, not sure what to do next.

“Here, take this rag and soak it with the bark over the fire. When the bark is soft, remove the rag and wipe off the poultice. I'm not sure how many times we need to do this, so hurry.” The first time Gwaine washed off the sticky, yellow, poultice the underside that had been against the wound was stained with grey. Gwaine rubbed it between his fingers and stared at Gaius.

“Ground iron?” he asked, disbelieving.

Gaius didn't answer, but thrust the mortar and pestle at him. They had to apply it four times before it finally came away clean.

At close to ten they had done as much for Merlin as they could. There had been a frightening half hour where the gash on Merlin's left arm wouldn't stop slowly oozing blood before Gaius had cursed something that sounded like “hawthorne, damn him” and had lifted up a floorboard, pulled out a small chest that shimmered too much for just the glow of firelight, and rubbed a handful of a dried, innocent looking grass against the cut. It came away bloodied, but the wound stopped bleeding.

Gaius said it was up to Merlin's body now to replace the lost blood, and that he might sleep for a day or so. Gwaine sat on an old stool, watching Merlin breathe, while Gaius bustled around him putting things away.

“Gaius, why did you have me stay? I've never helped you with a sick man before and my presence is not exactly welcome.”

Gaius paused, sat down heavily at the table and stared into the fire.

“Merlin has...spoken well of you in the past. And I worry I had taught him to trust only me.” Gaius stared morosely into the fire. “I try to protect him, you know. He's rather good at finding ways around that. But sometimes I wonder if I didn't caution his silence too much.” Gaius thought of Merlin's private suffering over Balinor—how would that grief had changed if he had let Merlin share it with Arthur? And Morgana...he felt a failure in protecting Morgana. Perhaps had he let her and Merlin be honest with each other, not denied Morgana's magic to her and preached silence to Merlin....but there was no chance to go back and so no time to regret. He could only move forward, try to keep Merlin safe and alive as best he could.

Gwaine nodded. Merlin trusted him in a way that few, if any, did—it was something Gwaine knew and kept close to his heart. He knew, at some point, he would return to Camelot to stay, if Arthur would let him. He could be a complete pain in the ass but Gwaine didn't know of any lord, prince, or king who would do for Merlin what Arthur has done. And, Gwaine supposed, if Arthur was worth Merlin's loyalty he would be worth his own. He hated his noble birth and hoped he would not have to use that pedigree to win a place here. But it would be for Merlin that he stayed, for the strange brilliance that surrounded him, for the idea that Merlin had once drunkly told him—of an Albion united, a high king of Merlin's making, a destiny fulfilled.

He reached out a hand and brushed Merlin's unruly hair aside, letting his palm rest on Merlin's forehead. He was warm, but from the fire and not fever.

“He is a good man,” Gwaine said.

“He is, I'm afraid, often too good.”

Gwaine nodded and they sat quietly until Gaius asked, “Gwaine, why are you here. I do hope you don't take your banishment lightly.”

Gwaine laughed softly. “I told the truth to the prince, you know. I really was just passing through.” He shrugged and withdrew his hand from Merlin's forehead. “I've been by a few times before—I've not many true friends in this wandering life, Gaius, but those I have I'd like to keep. Merlin'd be a bit put out if I came near Camelot and didn't stop by. The risk is worth it.”

Gaius remembered the few times a year Merlin had snuck out only to return near daybreak not half mangled as he was now and as Gaius always feared, but humming and whole.

Merlin woke once, near morning, to see the blurry outline of Gaius asleep at the table. He tried to lift his head but it was as heavy as an anvil, and a warm weight rested against his forehead. He turned and saw an arm, someone limned in the dying firelight, sitting next to him. He closed his eyes because it was too hard to keep them open.

“...Arthur?” he slurred through a dry mouth. A familiar chuckle answered him.

“Sorry to disappoint, just ol' Gwaine. He's fine, though. A bit pissy. You gave us quite a scare.”

“Gwaine.” Merlin repeated. When had Gwaine come? Merlin hadn't been expecting him to pass by for another few months. Had he found him in the woods, or had the druids returned him? But Arthur was alive, was safe. The deepness of something more than sleep was tugging at him, and he struggled to stay on top of it. It was like trying to pull your foot out of a mud pit, the more you struggled the more it sucked you in.

“Hey now, relax. Go back to sleep. Gaius says you'll be fine.” A thumb, rough and calloused, stroked his forehead and down the bridge of his nose and it was too much, he was sinking.

“Sorry,” he managed to mumble before succumbing and tumbling back into that darkness.

Gwaine snorted but Merlin was out. Dawn was just beginning to break which meant Arthur would be here soon. He felt it best if he wasn't around. He didn't feel too tired but he knew this was a deception of his body hyped with worry—it wasn't the first vigil he's held, and the sooner he could rest the better. He scribbled a note for Gaius telling him Merlin had woken and seemed alright before falling back asleep. Hastily, before he could think about it too much, he wrote the name of the pub where he would be staying and the false name he would use. The old man would regret sleeping at the table, but since Gwaine also refused to sleep last night he couldn't begrudge him his own type of vigil. He left silently. Merlin would tell him what happened, or he wouldn't. It didn't much matter to Gwaine. A man was allowed his secrets, and Gwaine would protect him as best he could.

Merlin remained unconscious for nearly a week. Arthur was, at first, relieved when he came down to Gaius in the morning and Merlin was still sleeping. He found Gaius distilling a broth, strangely, in a beaker over a burner. He cast a suspicious glance around but saw no trace of Gwaine.

“Gaius.” he said by way of greeting.

Gaius gestured to the table, turned off the burner and sat across from him.

“Sire,” Gaius answered, inclining his head.

Arthur wasn't sure how to begin.

“How is he,” he gestured towards Merlin's sleeping form, the cot moved closer to the fire.

“He still sleeps but I believe he will recover. The largest problem was the loss of blood, which his body, given enough time, will replenish. We must now only wait.”

Arthur nodded but couldn't fight his dissatisfaction. He didn't want to force Gaius into revealing anything he shouldn't, but he had found Merlin nearly dead in the woods hidden by druids.

“Sire, if I might ask—how did you find Merlin? I will admit he was not in his room yesterday morning, though he occasionally leaves earlier than I wake. I suspected he was in some danger—”

“Oh?” Arthur asked sharply, cutting him off. Gaius gave him a rueful smile.

“Such is often the case."

“Ah, fair enough.”

Gaius clearly knew something he wasn't willing to share, and Arthur felt suddenly stupid for thinking Gaius, of all people, wouldn't know if there was something—something strange about Merlin. He decided he would trust Gaius, but then felt foolish because if anything it would have to be Gaius who trusted him. But, they had to start somewhere.

He told Gaius all of how he found Merlin. The druids, the blood. The dead horse. Gaius sat quietly through it, pushing over a mug of tea when Arthur told of seeing Merlin fall to the ground, practically lifeless. When he finished, Gaius sighed and looked out the window. In all honesty he was quite impressed that Merlin had succeeded in banishing the shade, though the risk to his own life was reckless and angered him.

“Gaius, do you think the druids could have kidnapped him? The clearing looked like some sort of sick ritual.”

Gaius looked at him levelly. “I think, sire, you have already answered that question.”

Arthur huffed out a frustrated breath. He knew the druids hadn't captured Merlin. If anything they had been protecting Merlin, but from what? From him?

“No, I suppose not. I cannot fathom what he was doing out there.”

“Neither, sir, can I. Perhaps it is best we wait until Merlin is awake.” As soon as Gaius said this, Arthur knew it was a lie: Gaius knew exactly what Merlin had been doing but refused to say. Fine then. He would wait.

He looked over at Merlin, still so pale, and said, “Send for me as soon as he wakes. He has much to account for.”

As he was leaving Gaius called out to him.

“Sire. Merlin's actions are often alarming but never without purpose. His loyalty to you is unwavering. Please do not ask him any questions you do not want the answers to.”

**....................**

The days passed slowly. Merlin slept and Arthur waited. He caught Gwaine coming out of Gaius's chambers several times but neither spoke to one another about it. When he first saw Gwaine in the corridor he had felt a rush of pleasure at seeing the man; they had parted on good enough terms, but Arthur had still felt guilty and frustrated at letting such a talented fighter, one who had saved his life, walk away. Now he wasn't sure what he felt toward Gwaine. Wariness, perhaps. A dull, resigned jealousy at whatever he was to Merlin. A sad anger.

Over the course of the first day of Merlin's sleep, his worry quickly transformed into frustration. Merlin had lied to him, Merlin whom he trusted above all others. He had selfishly bore a dangerous burden that had nearly gotten him killed, without saying a word to Arthur. How dare he assume Arthur's faith would falter? How could he not know?

After two days of remaining unconscious, Arthur wondered if Merlin might never wake up. How long was a person supposed to take to recover from blood loss? Any soldier that wounded in battle would have already died, so he wasn't sure.

By the third day the other servants were avoiding him, and his knights stopped talking as soon as he was amongst them. When he'd finally been asked too many times why Merlin wasn't at the training grounds with him, he'd made a brief announcement that Merlin had gotten sick and was contagious, and had been quarantined until he was well. This was a sufficiently boring enough explanation to get the questions to stop, but rumors of Arthur's foul mood still ran amok. He had heard that Gwen had tried visiting Merlin but had been gently turned away by Gaius; in a moment of self-indulgent pity he wondered bitterly if Gwaine had been to see her, too.

When Merlin finally awoke on the fifth day, Arthur was ready to kill him. Gaius sent word in the afternoon that Merlin was up and could, probably, handle light conversation. His unsubtle warning to Arthur was clear but unnecessary. Arthur would have whatever weight of conversation he damned well pleased.

He stormed down the stairs, working up all the things he'd wanted to yell at Merlin for the past four days, prepared to fight Merlin every step of the way for the truth. He knocked on Gaius's door, once, savagely, barely waiting for approval before barging in. He looked around the room but saw only Gaius dusting some shelves.

Before he could ask, Gaius told him, “I've moved him to his room, sire. I believe I have a few patients in town to attend to, so if you'll excuse me.”

Arthur blinked as Gaius walked past him slinging his bag over his shoulder. Gaius clearly trusted Arthur not to do anything stupid to Merlin, or he wouldn't have left.

“And sire—please remember my words from before.” Gaius looked incredibly tired. “He does only what he thinks right.”

He left, then, and his words had the opposite effect on Arthur. What he thinks right? Who the hell was Merlin to decide that getting himself killed was right? Selfish bastard.

He clenched his teeth, made his way over to Merlin's room, and slammed the door open.

He opened his mouth to start his tirade but Merlin beat him to it.

“Arthur, I'm sorry.” Merlin's words and his condition leeched all anger out of Arthur so fast he felt dizzy. Merlin was in his sad excuse for a bed, attempting to prop himself up with thin pillows. His eyes had dark rings underneath and he was as pale as the lingering snow outside. The cuts on his arms were still bandaged, and Arthur could see part of one bandage sticking out through the thin, rough cloth of his sleeping tunic. His cheeks were hollow and Arthur was reminded he likely hadn't eaten more than broth in almost a week. His eyes, though bright, had the resigned quality of a hunted animal that knows the game is up.

“You look terrible,” the words slipped out before he could stop them.

Merlin managed to roll his eyes and for a second everything felt normal. Then he shifted and the air around them stilled and Arthur felt horribly unprepared for what would happen next.

Merlin looked down, fiddling with a loose thread in the wool blanket pooled around his lap.

“Gaius told me you found me. Brought me back here.”

“Yes. Well,” but he couldn't think of anything more to say.

Merlin brought his knees of up his chest, crossed his arms over the top and rested his temple against them. He looked at Arthur sideways, expression infuriatingly unreadable.

“You looked like you were about ready to kill me just now.”

Arthur shook his head. This isn't how this conversation was supposed to go at all.

“I was, but...”

Arthur always hated talking in circles. He felt the old anger rising.

“Merlin, what happened? And if you lie to me again—” he stopped. If Merlin lied to him there was nothing he could do about it.

“I won't. Lie to you.” Merlin gave him a strange look. “You can come in, you know. I'm not going to suddenly attack you or something.”

Arthur snorted and walked across the threshold, stopping at the edge of Merlin's bed and staring down at him.

“I doubt you could attack an ant right now.”

Merlin tried to laugh but it came out as a huff of breath. Arthur didn't have anywhere to sit so he sat on the edge of the bed and tried not to feel like a child.

“Arthur, what I have to tell you—you aren't going to like it. I don't want to put you in a position where...where you're going to have to make decisions you don't want to make.”

Gaius had said as much to him, but he was tired of other people deciding what he did and did not know.

“I am capable of choosing what to do on my own if _some people_ would just tell me everything to begin with. Merlin. I trusted you.” Why had that been so hard to say? So revealing? It was nothing they didn't know. He tried to make it sound pointed, accusatory, but it came out more as a plea. Again, this was all wrong. Merlin was the one who was supposed to be asking for mercy, not him.

The look on Merlin's face, though, was stricken. Arthur sincerely hoped Merlin wasn't going to cry because he would know even less what to do. He grabbed Merlin's ankle through the blankets, intending to shake him out of it, demand answers already, but ended up just gripping it tightly.

“And now?” Merlin asked, quietly.

Arthur didn't hesitate. “I do. Trust you.”

“Then you need to trust me when I ask you to do nothing about what I'm going to say.”

That wasn't what Arthur was expecting. He thought Merlin would ask him to trust him even after he told Arthur...told him what? That he could do—that he had—magic? It was the first time Arthur had let himself finish that thought and he understood what Gaius had been trying to tell him. If Merlin told Arthur, Arthur would be required to do something, act in some way, with that knowledge. He wouldn't have a choice. He suddenly, desperately wished Merlin would shut up and not tell him anything. Would lie to him. He trusted Merlin but realized, painfully, he couldn't ask Merlin to trust _him_ because of who he was. His duty to his father, to Camelot. The obligation. The realization was dizzying and painted all of Merlin's actions in a different light. He demanded what he could not return. He hated this part of himself. Uther's laws, right or wrong, were the laws they all must obey. A change in these laws, the laws for magic, could only happen with a change in king. He was not king, not yet.

He could see, though, that whatever Merlin had to say was wrecking him, and that Merlin would gladly bear the weight of knowledge, even if it crushed him, on Arthur's behalf. He was not king, but he could act like the king he wanted to be.

“I cannot promise to do nothing, but...I give you my word I will listen to your counsel first.” He felt very old and the words sounded familiar, like backwards deja vu. He'd said these words before, or maybe he was going to say them again later. Merlin nodded and looked at him and Arthur thought he understood whatever it was that reminded him of another time.

“Arthur, you were born through magic. Morgause—what your mother told you, it wasn't a lie, your father used magic to create you.”

Arthur felt the air rush out of him like a blow to the chest. Confusion warred with fury as he tried to understand the weight of Merlin's words. His father had lied to him. He'd asked him with a sword at his throat and he lied. Merlin, then, lied too—he stopped Arthur's right to avenge his mother...for what? Merlin's life would have been a hell of a lot easier with Uther dead. As soon as he asked himself this he knew the answer. Because Arthur would never have forgiven himself for killing Uther, not really, not for any reason, and Merlin couldn't let that happen. He didn't realize he was still squeezing Merlin's ankle until a faint whimper brought him back. Slowly he forced his hand to release. He started to draw it back but Merlin stopped him with his own hand on his, trapping it between his slender fingers against the bed.

Merlin looked at him very seriously. “I don't know if this matters much, but I lied to you then to try to save you. I knew you would hate yourself if you killed him.” He gave Arthur a small, sad smile. “Better my guilt than yours.”

Merlin remembered too well the sight of Uther before Arthur's blade. It would have been so easy to let Arthur finish, to show Arthur his magic and all that they might accomplish together. He remembered Arthur's words at Morgause's candle-lit dais, the wild hope he felt at hearing them. _Surely not everyone who practices magic can be evil._ But Arthur was not born to inherit the throne through patricide, and Merlin was not born for selfishness. He was born to protect Arthur, even from himself. To let Arthur kill Uther would to have let Morgause's plan succeed—she showed him the truth but twisted his feelings for her purpose. To use Arthur that way would have been more than betrayal.

“I will kill him,” Arthur heard himself say, hoarsely. For lying to him, for killing his mother, for the persecution of countless people, a persecution he would inherit that weighed more than all the gold and steel of Camelot. It was too much. He had been determined once to end his father's life and he followed the already trodden path to feel that way again. Merlin tightened his grip on Arthur's hand and sighed tiredly.

“No, you won't. I know you don't want to come to the throne as a king slayer, and Arthur—what your father did, what he's done—God, I can't believe I'm going to defend him, but he didn't know, Arthur. I truly believe he didn't know the price would be your mother's death. He is a man ravaged by grief, betrayed and only willing to rely on his own council because of this. He believes he is not at fault. This does not make his actions right, but what would you have done if the life of someone you loved was tricked away from you?”

Arthur thought of the bloody clearing, the druids blocking his path. He had been seconds away from slaughtering them just because he thought they were hiding Merlin, even when part of him knew they were protecting him. Had he found Merlin dead in the clearing he knows what he would have done. The thought made him sick, that it was that easy for him to falter—he was no different than his father. He could no sooner kill him than he could undo his own birth.

He let the scene play out in his mind for a minute before shaking his head clear.

“The throne,” he said hoarsely, “should not belong to a man such as me.”

Merlin stared at him, then let out a short, surprised laugh. The throne not be for Arthur? The throne was _made_ for Arthur, the idea of him not being king was so utterly ridiculous that Merlin couldn't help but find humor in it.

Arthur glared at him and snatched his hand away. It was annoyingly hard to be angry, though, with Merlin smiling, the slightest bit of color returning, reminding Arthur that he was alive when he could have easily been dead. The thought brought him back to why he was here—he couldn't see how his father's betrayal had resulted in whatever had happened to Merlin.

Merlin read his darkened expression all wrong and his words came out too fast.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh, it's just that, Arthur, that is stupid, knowing you would do something and then actually doing it is entirely different—I only asked so that you might not rush off and kill him this moment, because Nimueh wasn't entirely innocent and I need you to be less selfless when you hear the rest of what happened. Look at you, you're already acting as if you've gone off and killed loads of innocent people. Besides,” he added, looking at Arthur slyly, “should you be tormented by grief at the death of a loved one and plan to destroy all of Albion in your rage, you've got wise, clever me to stop you. Sadly not every king can be blessed with such an intelligent, noble servant.”

“Well, fine! What the hell am I supposed to do if it's _you_?!” He shut his mouth and clenched his jaw before anything else could spill out. He stared hard at the wall behind Merlin. He was angry that Merlin could even joke about such a thing when it had almost come to pass. He could feel Merlin's surprise and wanted to quietly rip up the floorboards and crawl underneath. The room flooded with warmth and he couldn't help glancing at the window, at the full sun that suddenly came through.

“If it's me,” Merlin said slowly, carefully, “then I will be sure to turn into a ghost and haunt you so that you might never be without my council.”

“Or your endless blathering,” Arthur said, shamelessly taking the out Merlin offered him.

“Or my endless blathering,” Merlin agreed.

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, how does that relate to how you got all...” he waved at Merlin, an encompassing gesture that meant _nearly dead_.

“Ah. Um. As I said, Nimueh wasn't entirely innocent. Even if she didn't know the price of your conception would be your mother's death, she knew something else that she didn't share with your father. This, uh, might be sort of hard to understand.”

Arthur waved impatiently at him to go on.

“When a life is created with magic, the way yours was, there should be some residual magic left in that life.”

Arthur frowned. The thought was a bit disturbing. “But I haven't got any magic, I'm sure of it. Did my father have it removed?”

“I know you don't. And I don't think he knew about that part, because if he did he probably wouldn't have used magic to conceive you. It's extremely dangerous, that sort of life magic has to go somewhere if it's not left in the child, and Uther would have definitely wanted it removed in case any suspected he and your mother couldn't conceive. It would have questioned the legitimacy of your birth and position as heir.”

“So where did it go?”

Merlin leaned back onto his pillows and let his head rest against the wall. He closed his eyes.

“That's the interesting bit. I guess if done right, the magic can be removed and distributed back into the earth. But it seems like Nimueh kept it for herself. I'm not really sure why—maybe as some sort of insurance in case things went poorly, which they did. She wouldn't have been able to use that magic to increase her own power. But she was certainly powerful enough and knowledgeable enough to figure out how to bind it and, well, raise it. I suppose she was just biding her time to use it as a weapon.”

Arthur was quiet for a long time, letting Merlin's words sink in. He had been born of magic. It had killed his mother. He had an evil magic twin that Nimueh raised to kill him.

His silence stretched so long that Merlin dozed, lightly, and jumped at Arthur's voice.

“Then she released her weapon onto you? Why not me, if I am her target?”

“Oh,” Merlin said a bit fuzzily, just now realizing Arthur had no idea that Nimueh was dead and that Merlin had killed her. Now was probably not the time to get into that.

“Uh, she didn't exactly release it. She died and her death broke whatever binding she had on it. It can't really do anything unless it's bound by a sorcerer or inhabiting a mortal body. If it possesses someone then it can use their body as a vessel. I...ran into someone it had possessed, and it must have jumped into me. I think it was trying to make it's way here anyway, though I couldn't tell if it wanted to kill you. It mostly wanted back in your body, but the force of joining you after such a long separation would have killed you anyway.” Merlin didn't tell Arthur of the horrible, mournful cry the shade had given whenever he was near Arthur. Of the fear and desperation he felt from the shade when it was scattering into the ground.

Arthur made a face somewhere between disgust and disbelief. That such a creature would invade his body was unthinkable.

“That's why you were acting so odd. Well, more odd than usual.”

Merlin reached up a hand and flicked Arthur on the forehead. “Be nice, I saved your life. It wasn't easy, you know.”

Arthur rubbed at his forehead, indignant. “Apparently not. If it was in you, how did you get rid of it? And I thought you said it used bodies as vessels? You were certainly strange but you didn't seem possessed at all.”

Merlin shrugged. “I guess it takes some time to fully take over. I had an idea of what was happening and the druids helped me.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. That was it? He knew what to do and the druids helped?

“It, um, needed a lot of blood. If I had died before it was out it would have been released again and probably could have made it's way to you. But, well, here I am, and that thing is gone, so all's well.” He finished in a rush and sat fidgeting with a bandage.

Arthur looked at him sharply. “Your horse died.”

Merlin's head whipped up and he stared at him. “What?”

“She came upon me when I was speaking with the druids. She seemed half crazed. I tried to settle her, but she died in minutes.”

Merlin's eyes went glassy and he looked out the window. “Oh.”

Arthur felt suddenly monstrous for telling him like that. He wasn't sure what he had been trying to accomplish—a small ember of fury had been burning in him over Merlin's willingness to fight Arthur's battles for him. He should have been the one that fought that thing, or died trying. It was his responsibility and he was angry at Merlin for trying to protect him. And to brush it off like it was nothing. If Arthur hadn't found him...It was a near a miss as he could get.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Merlin said faintly, “Not your fault. I should have left her outside the woods.”

“Perhaps she...did not die in pain.” Arthur felt stupid saying this. Hadn't he just told Merlin she was half crazed?

Merlin huffed a strange laugh. “Now who's lying,” he said. He gave a sniff and Arthur could see his shoulders straining with the effort not to shake.

Arthur grappled for a way to fix this. He thought of offering the foal that Gerrault's mare had dropped early last month. The stable master swore that if the early birth didn't kill it, the foal would be one of the best horses he's bred in years. The foal was still alive and growing rapidly—Merlin had always liked horses, he could probably give a hand in raising it until it was old enough to ride. But the more he thought about it the more he felt like a parent trying to replace a child's lost pet. The foal was of royal lineage, he could never give it to Merlin; it was a horse intended for nobles or as a gift to another royal family.

He was amazed and a bit disturbed at how quickly he had come to forgive Merlin before realizing he was never truly angry to begin with. He had felt bereft, yes, at Merlin hiding things from him, but had he ever felt truly betrayed? No, he decided, he hadn't. He had never worried that Merlin was a danger to him. The concern had always been Merlin's danger to himself, what would happen if Arthur failed to protect him.

They sat in silence some moments longer before Arthur decided to leave. Sometimes, a man just needed to be left alone to mourn. Arthur stood and stretched, wincing at having sat for so long on the the hard bed. Merlin really needed a chair in here. His movement snapped Merlin out of his sulking.

“You're leaving?” He asked.

Arthur nodded. “Yes, you need to rest. My chambers have been neglected for the past week because of your nonsense, so you'll need all your strength to take care of everything you've slacked off.” It was a threat with no heat and sounded stale, dull. It wasn't what he wanted to say, but to say anything else was foolish.

“Arthur,” Merlin began, struggling to choose his words carefully, “I am sorry. For all of this. If you...if you feel like you need to take action based on what you...now know, I understand.”

Banishment. Death. Merlin was telling Arthur it was okay if he banished or even killed him. Which, given that Merlin had broken more than a handful of Camelot's most severe laws, Arthur would well be in his bounds to do.

“Merlin. Why would I go through all the trouble of dragging your idiotic self back here if I just intended to get rid of you?”

Merlin brightened too much, and it was hard for Arthur to hold his gaze.

“Because no one else would put up with your ludicrous request of hot bath water every night in winter? And the way you want your shirts folded?”

“That's because if you fold them how you used to they get creases on the side and it makes me look...boxy! I am crown prince, I can't go about with wrinkled shirts.”

Merlin held up his hands in surrender and it really was remarkable how easily they fell into old patterns. Remarkable and annoying. Arthur was having a hard time leaving.

Merlin settled back down into the bed, folded his hands over his stomach and closed his eyes. After a minute he cracked one open and looked at Arthur.

“I'm trying to rest over here. Go be clever somewhere else.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said abruptly, “do you ever have strange dreams?”

The question was so sudden that Merlin found himself answering before thinking.

“Yes, through I prefer not to remember most of what I dream. It's not very pleasant.”

Arthur thought of his magical counterpart, possessing Merlin to kill him, and his dream from the week before. What was most disturbing was how helpless he had felt in the dream. With a decisiveness that often only came to him in battle, Arthur shut Merlin's door, toed off his boots, and clambered onto the bed next to Merlin.

“Budge over,” he said to Merlin's shocked face. Merlin obliged, clinging to the edge as Arthur stretched out next to him, leaning against the wall. It was nothing new. They had slept side by side many times before. But there was barely enough room for one and Merlin was forced to lie on his side and press against Arthur or risk falling off entirely. Arthur tried to casually oblige by lifting his arms and crossing them behind his head, giving Merlin more room against his side. Merlin's heat radiated through the blankets, and the late afternoon sun warmed his legs. Arthur let his eyes close, and waited for Merlin to relax. Eventually he did, scooting down so that his head was on the pillow rather than against the wall, his temple against Arthur's upper ribs.

He watched the shadows in the room change, waiting until Merlin's breathing started to even out.

“If you had died...”

“I know,” Merlin answered, voice muffled and tired, betraying his weariness from the day. “But if _you_ had—”

“Shut up.” Arthur said, not wanting to go back in circles.

Merlin sighed and risked flinging an arm over Arthur's stomach. His hand had fallen asleep and he flexed his fingers absently. Later he could plead his tiredness. Arthur wanted his ghost to haunt him for eternity, Merlin was half sick in love with him at all times, and still they had not talked about it, this thing, directly. He was nearly asleep but felt it urgent to be clear about what would happen if Arthur died.

“Would've killed them, too.” he said.

Arthur stretched his arms and let one fall in the narrow space behind Merlin's back, idly plucking at a loose thread on his tunic. His arm was warm and solid along Merlin's spine.

“Hah, who? You'd have been dead.”

“All of 'em. Wouldn't matter.” His voice was slurred now, close to sleep, but Arthur believed him. There was truth in it that meant Merlin knew what he would become if Arthur died. If Arthur closed his eyes and concentrated he could feel the power thrumming through Merlin. If he looked at him and squinted he could almost see the gold limning his body that was definitely not from the sunlight. It was frightening—Arthur didn't doubt that if he died, all of Albion might be subject to Merlin's power, twisted by grief. He had never thought of this before, and understood he would have to be careful. Not for himself, but for Merlin. He feared turning into his father should Merlin die, but Merlin feared turning into something worse.

He let Merlin drift off to sleep, and only when Gaius returned did Arthur realize he had been sleeping, too. It must be close to eight o'clock. Merlin's door creaked open but Arthur stayed silent, pretending in the hopes that Gaius would leave them. He was not yet ready to go—there was something he wanted to do when Merlin woke. It was a stupid thing, but Arthur felt more stupid for not doing anything about it before. He would not let more regrets pile up.

Gaius did leave, quietly, only to return with a rough wool blanket that he tossed over Arthur's legs. When he shut the door Arthur was acutely aware of the pain in his neck from sleeping sitting up. When he tried to shift to relieve the pain Merlin stirred.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, eyes still closed but sleepily aware.

Arthur took a deep breath and kissed him before his courage left him. He pulled away quickly, waiting for Merlin's reaction.

Merlin opened his eyes and looked up at him.

“Oh,” he said, “thought you were Gwaine for a second.”

Arthur's stomach dropped.

“What?” he demanded, “What do you mean you thought I was Gwaine? What do you do, that—” he cut himself off when he realized Merlin was stifling his laughter.

“Arthur, I'm sorry, it was a joke—”

Arthur sat up and glared at him hard. Merlin's laughter redoubled.

“Oh come on, Arthur, honestly, I was just joking, Gwaine told me what happened when you brought me back and that you'd been an absolute beast to him since I've been out.”

Arthur leaned back against the wall, glad that the growing darkness hid his embarrassment. He should just leave, this was a stupid mistake and the less he thought about it the better. All his hard won maturity was cast aside—Merlin had a very annoying habit of bringing out the best and worst in him.

“I don't know what you're talking about. I've hardly seen Gwaine which is more than I should be seeing him at all. Why was he here anyway?” he said, and it sounded too petulant, even for him.

Merlin smiled at him. “He was just passing through.”

Arthur was going to banish Gwaine, again, and said as much before he could stop himself. Merlin tried to look contrite but it was spoiled by his laughter. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, elbowing Merlin's head.

“Arthur, he really was just passing through. He visits me sometimes. It's just that...what took you so long? It takes me nearly dying for you to wake up and do something—”

“Oh, shut up!”

“I mean, I know you can be sort of thick skulled when it comes to these things, but really—”

“I said shut up!”

Merlin did but heedlessly put his arm across Arthur's stomach again, trapping him there. And just to be sure Arthur didn't try to leave, he locked his ankle over Arthur's. Arthur could sulk all he wanted; Merlin was elated.

Some time later Arthur ventured to ask Merlin if he would, perhaps, like to try that again, because Arthur was a forgiving person who believed in second chances and it could only be expected that Merlin would screw that up.

“Merlin?” he asked. But Merlin was asleep now, not the frighteningly deep sleep of healing, but a light restive one. They would have to get up to eat something soon, but for now Arthur let him rest.

**Author's Note:**

> An oldie, circa 2014 and remains the longest thing I've ever written--will we ever be free of this show? Experts say not in this lifetime.   
> Things that did not make an appearance but should have: Gaius's hair, Kilgarrah's dragon lips, and Merlin's cute lil bracelet from the early days.


End file.
